A Woman of Substance. Barbara Taylor Bradford

of the standing and importance of the Fairley family, and their great wealth, he had anticipated a structure that had more taste and refinement than this.

      They had almost reached the house when Emma cut into his thoughts as she said, ‘What do yer think ter it then?’ She looked up at him curiously, tugging at his arm.

      ‘Not much! ’Tis a Folly to be sure, just as ye dad says. It may be the grandest house in these parts, but it ain’t to the tastes of me.’

      ‘Won’t yer have a house like the Hall then, when yer gets ter be this toff, this millionaire yer said yer’d be one day?’ she probed, scrutinizing him shrewdly. ‘I thought all millionaires lived in grand houses like Fairley.’

      ‘True! True!’ he said quickly. ‘They do live in grand houses, but not always ones as ugly as Fairley Hall, Emma. I would never want such a house for meself. It offends me eyes, sure and it does, for it has no beauty or harmony or style.’ Blackie glanced ahead and grimaced at the thought of occupying such a grotesque mausoleum.

      That bitter smile played around Emma’s mouth again and there was a tiny gleam of malicious satisfaction in her eyes. Although she lacked exposure to the world beyond the moors, and so had no basis for comparison, she had always instinctively known that the Hall was an eyesore without grace or beauty. Her dad and the villagers might sarcastically call it Fairley’s Folly, but, none the less, they were still impressed. She laughed to herself, a little spitefully. Blackie had just confirmed her own opinions of Fairley Hall and this pleased her.

      Now she turned to Blackie, who had risen even more in her esteem, and said inquisitively, ‘What kind of a house will yer live in then, when yer gets ter be this rich millionaire?’

      The gloomy expression on his face lifted and was instantly replaced with a throbbing vibrancy. His black eyes shone as he exclaimed, ‘It will be in the Georgian style, built of pure white stone, with a handsome portico and great soaring columns and wide front steps. There will be many tall shining windows, looking out on to fine green lawns and gardens. It will have lots of spacious rooms, with lofty ceilings, and they will all be full of light and airiness. The floors will be made of polished oak and the fireplaces will all be in the Robert Adam style. In the entrance hall, which will be huge, I am going to have a floor made of white marble and a great curving staircase will lead to the upper floors. In every room I will use pastel colours, the light blues and pale greens that are soft and restful to the eyes, and I intend to purchase excellent furniture for all of these rooms. Yes, indeed! I shall select the best styles of Sheraton and Hepplewhite and maybe a little Chippendale. Paintings, too, I shall have, and many other fine and beautiful things. Ah, mavourneen, it will be a house to take ye breath away, faith and it will. I promise ye that. I aim to build it meself to me own design, sure and I do!’

      ‘Build it yerself, ter yer own design,’ she repeated in a hushed tone, her face full of wonder. ‘Do yer know how ter design houses then, Blackie?’

      ‘Aye, to be sure I do,’ he responded proudly. ‘I go to the night school in Leeds to be learning draftsmanship, and that’s the next best thing to architecture. Ye’ll see, Emma, I’ll build that house one day and ye’ll come and visit me when ye are a grand lady.’

      Emma looked at Blackie in awe. ‘Can anybody go ter this night school ter learn things?’ she asked, thinking of her brother Frank.

      Blackie looked down at her expectant face, so filled with hope, and told her confidently, ‘Sure and they can. At the night school they teach ye everything ye might want to be learning.’

      His answer delighted Emma and she stored the information at the back of her mind to tell Frank later, and asked, with her usual avid curiosity, ‘Who’s this Robert Adam then, and them others yer mentioned? Yer knows, Sheraton and Hepplewhite and Chippendale?’

      Blackie’s face glowed, for they were embarking on a subject close to his heart. ‘Robert Adam was the great architect of the eighteenth century, Emma. He built many grand and beautiful houses for the gentry that are wondrous to behold. Ah, but Adam was more than that, I am thinking, for he furnished them, too, with style and taste. Nobody has ever bettered him, mavourneen. The others I spoke about,’ he went on enthusiastically, ‘were the three greatest furniture makers of the Georgian period, sure and they were. Master craftsmen who made the furniture for the Quality folk.’

      He grinned and winked at her. ‘Ye see, I aim to have nothing but the best when I’m a rich boyo. For I often says to meself, “What’s the point of having money, Blackie O’Neill, if ye don’t get the pleasure from it?” So I aim to be spending it. That’s what it’s for, I am thinking. Are ye not after agreeing with me?’

      Emma regarded him soberly. Mostly when she thought of money it was in terms of the necessities of life. Blackie had presented new possibilities to her. ‘Aye, I suppose so,’ she said cautiously. ‘As long as yer’ve got enough money ter spare, ter buy all them fine things.’

      He roared with laughter. So much so that tears of merriment squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. ‘Ye are a canny Yorkshire colleen, I can see that,’ he said through his laughter. ‘But what’s enough, Emma? I’ve heard tell of some men who never have enough money to satisfy them.’

      Like Squire Fairley, she thought sourly, but said, ‘And where will yer build yer beautiful house, Blackie? Will it be in Leeds then?’

      He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve, his merriment subsiding, and shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think it will. I am considering building it in Harrogate, where all the toffs live,’ he said importantly. ‘Aye, that will be the place, I am thinking,’ he continued, the certainty in his voice more pronounced. ‘’Tis a fine town. A spa. Just the place for a spalpeen like me. Have ye heard of it, Emma?’

      ‘Yes, me mam has been ter Harrogate, a long time ago, when she went ter visit her cousin Freda in Ripon. She told me about it once. She said it’s a real posh place.’

      He laughed. ‘It is, it is! And tell me, Emma, do ye like the sound of me house, that I shall be building for meself one of these fine days?’

      ‘Ooh, I do, Blackie! Yer house’ll be luvely, I just knows it will. Not like this place. Yer should see this house at night. It frightens me more than when I have ter walk past the cemetery,’ she confided.

      Blackie frowned and looked swiftly at her small face, which was childlike and trusting, and he smiled reassuringly. ‘Ah ’tis only a house, little colleen. A house can’t harm ye.’

      She did not respond to this comment but compressed her lips and quickened her steps, as they were suddenly engulfed by the giant blue-grey shadows cast by Fairley Hall. Now that they were close to it, Blackie became conscious of another aspect of the house and it was one which instantly disturbed him. It seemed to Blackie, as he regarded it, that the great mansion was strangely brooding and hostile, as if it had never known life or laughter or gaiety. He had the oddest feeling that all those who crossed its threshold were held captive for ever.

      He looked up. Immense windows gazed down at them, heavily draped against the world, and to Blackie they were like the eyes of blind men, empty, hollow, and dead. A shaft of sunlight struck the blackened walls and those dim and mysterious windows, and this light, hard and full of clarity, appeared to emphasize the impregnability and bleakness of Fairley Hall. Blackie told himself he was being ridiculous and over-imaginative, but these emotions did not diminish as Emma led him around the corner of the house and out of the shadows. They headed across a cobbled stable yard, full of sunlight and blue sky, towards the servants’ entrance. Automatically he put his arm around her shoulders and then he grinned at the absurdity of his action. She had been coming here far longer than he had and was surely without need of his protection. And protection against what? he wondered, mystified at himself.

      Emma looked up at him and smiled, as if once again she had read his thoughts. But as they mounted the steps that smile faltered and the light in her eyes dulled. A watchful expression settled on her face as she turned the iron handle of the door and walked into the kitchen.